


Dusting Day

by bottledspirits



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledspirits/pseuds/bottledspirits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rum tries to distract Belle from her work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dusting Day

**Author's Note:**

> I needed more flirting.

It was a cold winter morning in the mountains. The sun shone bright, glistening on the drifts of fresh white snow, but it did nothing to penetrate the chill in the air. On the towers, the flags fluttered in a half-hearted breeze, and a lone bird called out in the distance.

The light poured through the great windows of the Dark Castle. Vast pools of it dotted the long hall where the banquet table stood. The wood had been polished to a mirror-shine; from the right angle, one could look down the table and see the faint outline of the mountains outside the windows reflected in its surface.

Rumplestiltskin sat back in his chair with a cup of tea as he surveyed the room. He held the tea more for the warmth than anything else. It remained untouched while his eyes were fixed on a certain delicate object across the room.

His pretty little maid flitted back and forth, dusting his macabre collection of trophies and oddities. She moved in short, brisk turns, almost like a dance. He could hear the swish of her long blue skirt and the light tap of her heels as she went about her duties.

The various objects in the room hardly needed the attention. She had just dusted them yesterday. Rumplestiltskin knew she only did it so she could look at everything up close. She was a curious thing.

But he made no comment; if his funny little maid wanted to make more work for herself by inspecting his collection, he would not stop her. He pretended he did not feel a swell of pride whenever she bent close to look at one of his trophies. He could just imagine the look of curiosity on her face, her eyes wide, lips parted slightly and upturned in an expression of wonder and amusement.

It was the same look she gave him whenever he did something nice for her. He pretended not to notice how that made him feel, too.

Steam rose in eddying spirals as his tea cooled, but still he did not take so much as a sip. He was waiting for her to reach the other end of the room so she would have to turn his way again. She was certainly taking her time about it, twirling from one object to the next as if in the middle of a waltz with some invisible partner. Lollygagging, he would have called it.

Had anyone asked, Rumplestiltskin would have told them – if he’d told them anything, capricious imp that he was – that he merely wanted to see how his maid chose to occupy her time. In truth, he was trying to catch a glimpse of her bright blue eyes from across the room, but the maddening creature kept turning her head away from him. Her long brown curls, which he normally admired – though the devil take anyone who accused him of it – were only adding to his frustration. They cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, creeping down to the small of her back, and every time she leaned over to do what she called dusting, they fell in front of her face like a curtain, abruptly blocking his view.

He watched her brush the accursed locks back half a dozen times before he sat up with a huff. She wasn’t going to look at him. Normally she peppered him with dozens of questions or comments concerning his collection – most of them rather cheeky, the little sprite. But she’d dusted the objects in this hall several times now, and he supposed her curiosity had played out.

That didn’t explain her circuitous journey of the room. Had she been close by, Rumplestiltskin might have asked her what she was about. As it was, she was nearly to the end of the room. He could just make out the sound of her voice as she hummed a little tune to herself. That would account for the vague, ambling motion of her steps. Evidently she was as bored as he, and trying to amuse herself.

Rumplestiltskin smiled and set down his cup. He’d give her something to look at.

Belle finished with the last pedestal in the room. She turned with a flourish, watching with unmuted delight as her skirt twirled around her, and nearly walked into another pedestal that had not been there a moment before. Belle tottered to a halt, blinking in astonishment. She was used to things cropping up unexpected, this being an enchanted place, but usually the only thing to appear out of the blue beside her in Rumplestiltskin’s castle was – well, Rumplestiltskin.

He always thought himself so clever, giggling every time he nearly startled her out of her skin. Belle tried to school her features when she turned her eyes on him, but when she beheld the silly, chortling creature she could not help but smile. So of course, he would do it again.

It seemed he was trying a new game, and Belle was willing to play along. She was bored, anyway. It had been ages since she’d seen anything new among his trophies and, if she was honest, Belle liked to hear him tell the stories of his conquests. The nice ones, at least.

He had probably meant to startle her, or to test to see if she was paying attention. But most likely, Belle knew, Rumplestiltskin was bored and trying to get her to talk to him. The man could be so transparent.

Nonetheless, Belle leaned over the new display to observe the ornament that rested there. It was a small trinket box, inlaid with some pearlescent blue stone that shone brilliantly in the morning sun. It was edged in silver and closed with a heart-shaped clasp. On the top of the box was a pattern of two doves facing each other in flight. The box was so smooth and elegantly made that she longed to reach out and stroke the edge, to feel the sleek surface, but she dared not, in case she left fingerprints.

There was not a speck of dirt or dust on the box. As she leaned over it, Belle could trace the outline of her features almost as well as if she looked into a mirror, could make out the wide, astonished shape of her eyes, the form of her lips, ever so slightly parted.

All right, he’d won. He had her attention. Belle allowed her lips to curve into a smile.

“I’ve never seen this one,” Belle called, turning round to face him. “Where–”

Rumplestiltskin was not there. Belle’s voice faded in the hall as her eyes passed over the room. She glanced around to see where he might be, but found not a trace of the prankster sorcerer.

His cup sat on the table, still steaming. Belle approached it with caution, casting a wary look as she went, though she hardly expected him to be hiding in the fireplace. She stopped by his chair to scrutinize the delicate porcelain. There was a flutter in her stomach – excitement and annoyance, no doubt, but not fear. Definitely not fear.

Besides, who would be afraid of that twittering, foppish…

Her thoughts drifted off as she noticed a fleck of dust on one of the elaborately carved finials of the chair that stood beside the table. She seldom thought to dust it, as Rumplestitlskin used it so often, but it wouldn’t do to let his second favorite roost go untidied – his first favorite, of course, being the stool next to his spinning wheel, which saw so much use that there was no sense dusting it.

Belle swatted at the chair with her duster. She began to turn, so she could go back to looking for the errant spinner, but paused when, from the corner of her eye, she saw the trail of dirt disturbed by her duster settle on an empty patch of air. Frowning, she bent closer to examine the spot where her master usually sat.

Color burst before her eyes, and the form of Rumplestiltskin appeared in the chair. Belle gasped and stumbled backward, a hand over her heart, as the imp erupted in giggles.

“Surprised, are we?” he said languidly, leaning back in his chair to watch her.

A flush went over Belle’s face.

“You think you’re so _funny_ ,” she said, willing her heart to stop beating so furiously.

Rumplestiltskin gave one of his high cackles and turned his head to one side.

“Aren’t I?” he asked. His eyes were glittering.

Belle stood up with as much grace as she could muster. She tried to look stern, but she was smiling. Rumplestiltskin grinned back, steepling his hands in delight of his little victory.

“One of these days you’ll frighten me half to death,” Belle warned, waving her duster at him imperiously.

He sat stone still, but his eyes remained on hers, and the smile on his lips did not waver.

“Not to worry,” Rumplestiltskin said. “Not a hair on your head will come to harm while you’re with me.”

Belle felt a strange flutter in her stomach at his words. She lowered the duster, watching him with eyes full of wonder. His lips tightened, as if he’d heard the promise in his words, and he ducked his head rather than look at her.

So shy, despite everything. Belle’s lips spread into a wry smile, as if she possessed some great secret. She stepped closer to his chair, the sound of her heels resounding in the quiet of the hall. His hair bounced lightly as he turned his head ever so slightly her way, though he did not meet her gaze.

“Drink your tea before it gets cold,” Belle said, giving the table a flick with her duster.

Rumplestiltskin nodded. She turned away, her skirt twirling behind her, and he reached for the cup as she strolled off.

That night, when she returned to her room, Belle found the beautiful blue box on her night stand. Inside were two finely-wrought hair combs, made with silver and inlays as same as the box they rested in. Belle cradled them in her lap and smiled. The stone was even more beautiful in the moonlight.


End file.
